


Castaway

by spikesgirl58



Series: Hot Tropical Nights [5]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 13:50:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5250515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an employee on the hotel's small island resort has to leave, Napoleon volunteers to take over.  He wasn't expecting quite the adventure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Castaway

Napoleon sat on the lip of the porch and looked out at the lagoon.  It was slowly waking up, the sun coaxing colors from the still waters.  This was Napoleon’s favorite time of the day.  He sipped his coffee and smiled at his memories.  It didn’t seem possible that just a short time ago, he’d been locked in a tiny apartment in the Bronx - no sun, no friends, no life outside of his typewriter and his imagination.  There his heroes always won and the ending was always happily ever after.  Maizie was about his only contact with the outside.  He barely left his cocoon, except to shop for food or visit his editor.  It was a pitiful existence, but it was what he knew.  Inside his heart, he longed to travel and to really mean something to someone.  He had Maizie, of course.  She had befriended him when they were in school together, but a friend just wasn’t the same as a soulmate.  He could still hear his mother’s taunting laughter when he finally confessed that to her. 

“Who wants a pitiful example of a man like you?  Listen to your mother, I’m your only friend.”

The sad part was that Napoleon believed her for far too long.  It wasn’t until she collapsed, a victim of the excesses and pleasures of life that she denied her son, that he was suddenly free to find his own path.  It wasn’t as big a blessing as he’d thought it would be.  Then Maizie, his guardian angel, arrived and saved him

Napoleon took another sip of coffee, playing back the scene in his head again and again.  Where he’d found the courage to not only voice his wish, but then to act upon it was a miracle in itself, but then to have it deliver him into the lap of the man who was destined to re-write everything that had been Napoleon Solo – Napoleon considered it more than good fortune.  He considered it nothing short of a miracle.

“Good morning.”  His miracle appeared, tousled from sleep and early morning lovemaking, still looking more sleep than awake.  He took Napoleon’s coffee cup and drained it, then held it out beseechingly.  “More, please?”

“Instant human, just add coffee,” Napoleon quipped, quickly filling the cup again from the nearby pot.  They’d played this scene out again and again in the past and it still made Napoleon laugh.

“How about soon-to-be human, instead?”  Illya sat down and leaned against him.  “Beautiful, no?”

Napoleon kissed Illya’s temple.  _“Oui, manifique._ ”

“I was talking about the view.”

“As was I.”  Napoleon sighed happily.  “I was just thinking about the old days.”

“I prefer the here and now.”

“Strangely enough, me, too.”  Napoleon rescued his cup.  “You were late last night.”

“A bit of a crisis.”  Illya’s father owned several of the hotels on Tahiti and various other islands.  When Napoleon and Illya had become a couple, he’s given them the _Très Beau_ Hotel and Spa on Rangiroa as a wedding gift.  It made an honest worker of Illya, who lived hand-to-mouth as a local guide up to that point and it gave Napoleon a never-ending source of material for his current book.

“What sort of crisis?”

“Our host has an emergency and we need a substitute.”  Like many of the hotels which dotted Rangiroa, _Très Beau_ owned a small motu.  Napoleon had been on it once as a guest and fallen in love with the tiny speck of land.  After that, he used any excuse to make the hour trip across the lagoon to visit.

“Is Bernard okay?”

“No, his parents were both killed in a car crash.  He needs to fly home to France to take care of the arrangements.  Thankfully, there were no guests on the island this week, so he’ll leave today.”

“We need to do something.”

“Already have.  We bought him his plane ticket.”  Illya smiled a little sheepishly.  “Sorry I didn’t ask first.  I’m still sort of new at the couple’s game.”

“I more than understand.”  Napoleon kissed Illya’s temple.  “And that was a very nice gesture.  I would not change any of it.  When does he leave?”

“In another hour.  In the meantime, I’m scrambling for a host couple.  It’s not as easy as it seems.  The people who can handle the guests, can’t handle the isolation.  Those who can handle the isolation can’t handle the people.”  He fell silent and stared out over the brilliantly blue waters of the lagoon lost in thought.

“Except us, of course.” Napoleon barely believed he’d said it.

“Except us.”  Illya stopped and studied his mate.  “Are you suggesting…?”

“How long will Bernard and his wife be gone?”

“A month.”

“We could do that.”

“You do have the culinary skills.”

Napoleon had always loved to cook, although his mother was always quick to insult anything but the most basic of his dishes.  As with everything else, she convinced Napoleon that he was hopeless at it.  He soon discovered after her death that he both enjoyed cooking and, damn it, he was good at it.   He frequently cooked for Maizie and her dinner parties, then excused himself until it was time to clean up.  It was one of the highlights in his otherwise dreary existence.

Since his arrival, his skills had exploded, but he was still modest.  “To be honest, Illya, the fish here is so good, it practically serves itself.”

“I would disagree.”  Illya patted his stomach.  “As would my waistline.  You perform magic with it.”

“Let’s give it a chance.  It would at least it would give your cousin the opportunity to find a replacement. We’ll see how you feel after that.”

Illya smiled.  “Okay, I’ll make the call.  Go ahead and pack enough for at least two weeks.  ” 

“What about food?”

“You’ll need to do an inventory of what’s there, then we can radio the resort and put in your order.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”  Napoleon slapped his hands together and got to his feet.  “Let’s get packing.”

With a moan, Illya also got to his feet.  “Where do you get your energy?”

“Never underestimate a man with three cups of coffee under his belt.”

QQQQQ

Napoleon sat on the front steps of their fare and looked out, much as he did every morning back on Rangi.  Here the view was a little different.  Back home, he could only see the lagoon.  To his left was the peaceful lagoon, its water going clear to turquoise to intense cobalt blue.  To his right, the Pacific Ocean raged, its waves crashing up against the reefs that protected the island.   It seemed like an aquatic example of Janus, one side peaceful, the other in conflict.

There was a crunching sound and he saw Illya walking along the beach.  Every morning Illya walked the island, just to make sure everything was fine.  To be honest, Napoleon thought the man was just a little bored.  This was quiet compared to their life back on Rangi and that was hardly the hot bed of activity, except on days when they were receiving or entertaining guests.  They’d had a few quiet days after nearly two weeks of constant hosting and Napoleon was happy for the break.

Napoleon waved.  “Good morning!”  Illya’s head turned in his direction.  He grinned and waved back.  Illya broke into a trot.

“It would be if the wind would come up.”  Illya claimed a good morning kiss.  “It seems to be changing, though.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“The best winds are from the east.  When the northwest winds start, there’s usually trouble on its heels.  Right now, it has to make up its mind.”

“It was a bit still last night.” Napoleon poured him some coffee. “Do you think we’ll get rain this afternoon?”

Illya studied the horizon.  “Maybe, but I don’t think so.  Tonight would be more likely.”

“How are you feeling this morning?”

Last night, something had awakened in Napoleon and he had initiated their lovemaking.  Usually Illya took the lead, but Napoleon would have none of it and wound up ramming into Illya’s body again and again until he thought he would split the man in two.  His resulting climax nearly made Napoleon’s head explode with its intensity and it hammered in his temple, keeping time with his heart.  Illya writhed in his arms and Napoleon gave another two half-hearted thrusts and Illya cried out, his head back, his spine arched as he climaxed.

They spent a few sticky moments, still entwined, until it became too much and they headed for the shower.  After such an exertion, Napoleon would have thought they would have immediately dropped off, but the wind died off and even Napoleon, who usually had no issue with the heat, spent much of the evening staring at the roof of their fare, anxiously for the slightest breeze.  Illya had slept, but apparently not much better than he had. 

“I’m good, but a little sore and a little tired.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“

Illya placed a finger on Napoleon’s mouth.  “I wouldn’t have changed a moment of it.  It’s not often I am permitted the luxury of being in the passenger’s seat.”

“It’s this place.  I feel… so free here.  At least I do when it’s just the two of us.”

“I’m glad.”  Illya moved in even closer, his lips and tongue meeting Napoleon’s in an enthusiastic dance of affection.  He pulled back and looked down.  Napoleon’s penis was tenting his shorts. “Looks like someone is awake.”

“Sorry, I can’t-“

“Never apologize for showing me how you feel.”  Illya reached in and freed Napoleon, then bent and took the penis into his mouth.

Napoleon let his head tip back and resisted the urge to thrust into that moist heat.  Illya kept a hand pressed against Napoleon’s abdomen, lest he forget.

Napoleon closed his eyes, the sight of Illya performing fellatio on him would make him come too quickly and he wanted to savor this.  He gripped the arms of the chair and whispered endearments.

“Tell me how this feels,” Illya said, coming up for a breath, then plunged back down sucking and tonguing the shaft.  His free hand snaked up Napoleon’s short’s leg to fondle his balls, pinching and rolling them expertly in his fingers.

“Good… don’t stop.  Don’t ever stop.”  Napoleon tried to last, but Illya had one final trick up his sleeve and a finger found Napoleon’s anus and pushed inside.  That was all he needed.  He screamed Illya’s name to the heavens as the man sucked him dry.

Illya wiped his mouth and then kissed Napoleon, letting him taste himself.  For a moment, there was only them and nothing else. 

“That was…”  Napoleon, the writer, was lost for words.

“Excellent.  Now what’s for breakfast?”

“You.”  Illya’s penis was peeking over elastic band of his swim trunks and Napoleon leaned forward to kiss the glistening tip.  He got up on shaky knees and somehow got into their fare and to their bed stand.  He grabbed bottle of lube and stripped off his trunks.  Returning to the porch, he was not surprise to see Illya had abandoned his and, eyes closed, was stroking himself.   Napoleon uncapped the lube and squeezed.  In this heat it oozed out more liquid than a solid and Illya groaned as Napoleon dribbled it onto his penis’s sensitive head.

Satisfied, Napoleon positioned himself and sat down, letting Illya pierce him with one painfully satisfying motion. 

Illya groaned, but didn’t move, letting Napoleon choose the moment of when and how they would move.  In this position, it was hard to do any more than rock and for a moment, that was fine, then Napoleon pulled free.

“What?”  Illya sounded drugged as Napoleon pulled him to his feet and braced himself against the railing, bending over to give Illya full rein.

“Fuck me, Illya.  Do it now.”  Napoleon didn’t often use that word, but he knew what it meant to Illya.

The man didn’t need any more encouragement and plunged into Napoleon, spreading the man’s cheeks so he could watch his penis slip in and out.  Then that was too much and he began to thrust, short and demanding.  Napoleon held on with one hand and worked his own penis with the other. 

One last thrust, then Illya ground into him and gasped.  Napoleon second climax wasn’t as intense as the first, but he didn’t mind. 

Sticky with sweat and semen, he took Illya’s hand and led him into the still waters of the lagoon.  The water was cool and an instant relief from the humid tropic air.  They didn’t venture far from the shore, as it would be dangerous to brush up against a coral head and they didn’t need any additional attention from the reef sharks that patrolled the shore.

“That was… sweet.” Illya ducked beneath the surface and then back up, the water plastering his long blond hair to his head.  “I could do that every morning.”

“We practically do.” Napoleon followed suit and then stood, heading back to shore.

“What’s your hurry?”

“As much as I would love to linger here, there is coffee up there and I’m suddenly a bit hungry.  No idea why.”

“Great, so what’s for breakfast he asks again with great hope in his heart?”

“Pancakes?”

“And?”

“Bacon?”

“ _Très bien!”_  

###

Napoleon remembered Illya’s laugh now as he looked out at the lagoon.  It was a bit choppy this morning, in response to the trade wind that was coming from the north.   He’d spent the night alone on Avea Hira.  Illya had taken the boat and gone back to the resort.  This morning he would bring out their guests and some much needed supplies, along with fresh fruits and vegetables.  Strangely, Napoleon had passed a comfortable night, sleeping in even later than usual.  With only himself for company, there hadn’t been any driving force to get him out of bed – at least until the need for coffee and the toilet made itself known. 

It had rained during the night and the island seemed freshly washed and ready to greet the day. Napoleon was feeling just a bit anxious for the arrival of their guests.  It would be the last set before they headed back to Très Beau to hand the motu back over to Bernard.  Napoleon had come to savor his days on the motu, even if it meant cooking three meals a day for upwards to ten people or more, depending upon how many workers were on the island. 

 It was sort of funny because he back home on Rangi, he regularly cooked for between four and ten people every night.  Rare was the evening that a half dozen or so cousins, blood or otherwise, showed up at dinnertime.  It was island custom to never turn anyone away and, the truth of the matter was Napoleon loved it.  It gave him a sense of community and family that he’d never had before.  He quickly came to look upon these people not as just friends, but so much more.

Yet here on Avea Hiva _,_ it was different.  Here his opportunities were limited by his larder and there was no running down to the market to get a missing ingredient. He’d been trying to cook down what they had on hand.

Napoleon glanced over his shoulder at his typewriter, waiting patiently for him to return.  He really should be writing, but it seemed a sin against man and God to not bear witness to the sunrise.

Eventually, years of habit took over and he rose, leaving the door to the fare open so that he might look out and pay homage to the sea.  He was working on his first Tahitian novel and it was slow going, mostly because he was writing it in French.  Napoleon smiled at that memory.

“What are you doing?”  Illya had come up behind him.

Napoleon glanced up from the keyboard.  “You mean apart from the obvious.”

“No, I very much mean the obvious.”

“I’m writing on the next chapter.  Roger is getting anxious.”

“He’ll be even more anxious when he reads this.”  Illya had picked up a sheet and then picked up another.  “Very anxious.”

“It’s that good?”  Napoleon was secretly thrilled that Illya thought so.

Illya grinned and kissed Napoleon on first one cheek, then the other, a very common in the islands.  “ _C’est Francais.”_

“What do you mean?”  It was only then that Napoleon realized he’d written the last three pages almost entirely in French.  “Rarely did he speak only English anymore.  He and Illya spoke a mixture of French, English and Tahitian, depending upon what word came to mind first.

At that point, he started to laugh and they spent the rest of the afternoon discovering other translations of love between them.

Napoleon sighed happily.  He’d had to rewrite those pages, of course, and finish that novel, but was delighted when his new editor voiced great delight at Napoleon trying his hand at writing something for the French-speaking market.

 

He was peeling potatoes when he heard the shortwave radio crackle to life.  “Boat to Hira.  Over.”  Hurriedly, Napoleon wiped off his hands and picked up the microphone.

“Avea Hira here.  Good morning.”

“You wish.  Is everything ready?”

Napoleon’s brow furrowed.  “What’s wrong, _mon ami_?”

“We will talk later.  I should be arriving in about ten minutes.  Are the cold drinks ready?”

“And on a tray.  We can sit out at the picnic table where I can interview folks for their likes and dislikes.”

“That might take a while.  Make sure you have some ginger ale ready”

It was an odd comment for Illya to make.  “Come again?”

“Rough crossing for some.”

“They didn’t read the material in their room, then.”

“Roger that and then some.  Boat out.”

Napoleon looked around the kitchen and found some mint teabags.  He heated up for water and left them to steep. He would pour it over ice just prior to the boat’s arrival.  It would help calm stomachs down and cool them off at the same time.

He could hear the boat before he caught sight of it – a dot on the horizon.  He checked to make sure everything was ready and then walked out to the mooring spot.  He had positioned the luggage cart, a modified wheelbarrow, last night.

Even before the boat approached, Napoleon could hear the voices floating back to him.

“What kind of second rate dump is that?” A man’s voice drifted over the waves.  “There’s no pier?”

“I don’t care.  It’s land.  Honey, make him go faster and stop zig zagging.”

“You, Boy!  Sail straight.  Stop trying to make my wife sick.”

“I cannot sail straight, _monsieur._   The corals would rip out the bottom of the boat.”

“I don’t care!  When we get back, I am going straight to your manager.”

_“Oui, monsieur.”_

Napoleon suddenly understood what Illya had been referring to.  Suddenly, he had the feeling that it was going to be a very long day.  He waded out and caught the bow of the boat.  The other couple looked anxious.

“Now what?”

“Get out.”  Illya’s words were crisp and tight.

“And get my shoes wet?”  The loud man was aghast.

“They told you to wear surf booties at the hotel,” the other man mumbled.  “They even offered them to you for free.”

“Probably just to get him out of the hotel,” Illya said to Napoleon in French.

“It’s been this bad all the way?” Napoleon tied off the bow of the boat.

“No signs of abating.”

The very vocal man suddenly looked Napoleon straight in the eye.  “Hey, you two, what are you saying?”

“He was telling me about the crossing,” Napoleon said in English. 

“What?  You ain’t another Frenchie?  Where were you born?”

“New York, sir, and I would advise that you take off your shoes and roll up your pants legs or you are going to have a very uncomfortable stay in the boat.”  Napoleon helped the other couple out.  The woman squealed in delight.

“The water, it’s so warm.  It’s like bathwater.”

“And clear!”  The man thrust a hand towards Napoleon.  “Hi there.  I’m Sammy and this is my wife Tammy.  We are glad to be here!

“ _Bonjour et bienvenue a Avea Hira.”_  Napoleon shook the hand.  “I am Napoleon.”

“Really?”  Tammy stopped in mid step.

“My mother was a history buff.”  He helped the distressed woman out of the boat.  Unlike Tammy, she seemed unimpressed with the water.  “And you, madam?”

“I am Mrs. Ralph Burrows.”  She shrieked as she landed in the water.  “I thought you said it was warm,” she snapped at Tammy.

“It is.”  Happily, Tammy splashed her way to the shore.

“ _Je l'aime_ ,” Napoleon murmured to Illya, who nodded.

“Not to my way of thinking, it isn’t.”  She struggled to the sand and looked around.  “This is it?”

“It is.”  Napoleon waited for the loud man to climb from the boat

 “Take me to my room right now.”  She crossed her arms.  “I need a shower and to lie down.”

“Just as soon as I help unload the boat, Madam.”

“Don’t argue with my wife.” Mr. Ralph Burrows climbed from the boat, nearly flipping it as he did.  Napoleon heard Illya curse under his breath ad he struggled to keep the boat upright.

“Just go, Napoleon.  Get them out of my sight.”

“Follow me, please.”  Napoleon gestured to the woman and heard the man start yelling.

“What the hell is wrong with this sand?  It’s sharp.”

“It’s coral base, sir, which is why we recommend people wear reef shoes,” Napoleon said smoothly. He didn’t bother with shoes anymore, but he had donned a top for their arrival.  He gestured to a fare.  “There are three which face the lagoon and two which face the neighboring motu.”

“I want the biggest one.”

“They are all the same size, sir, and they all have the same amenities.” 

With a snort and a curse beneath his breath, Burrows pointed.  “What about that one?”

“That is the main lodge, sir, and where we meet for meals.  However, if you want to do without a bathroom and beds, you are more than welcome to sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be funny.”  Burrows headed to the nearest fare.  His wife preceded him, staggering and stumbling up the shore. “This one.”

Napoleon kept a smile from his lips.  It was the fare least likely to catch any breeze and the one they seldom offered guests. “As you wish, sir.  We will bring your luggage along.”

As Napoleon started to walk away, he heard a cry of dismay from Burrow’s wife.  “Honey, where’s the air conditioning and where is the glass for the windows?”

“Hey, you, you heard the wife.”  Burrows shouted from the small porch as Napoleon approached.

“You have windows on all four walls, the trade winds are your air conditioner.  There is no need for glass here.”

“And God help us when the trades die,” Illya muttered as he hauled a suitcase over to the luggage cart.  

“Are they supposed to?”  Napoleon came back and greeted Kenny, who was helping Illya unload.  “You are a sight for sore eyes,” he said as they touched cheeks in a very French manner. 

“Figured the boss could us a hand with those troublemakers.”

“ _D’accord_.   By the way, they are calling for some pretty ugly weather.  We might have to abandon Avea Hiva if it gets as bad as they say.  We need to make sure the other huts are battened down in case we have to leave.”

Napoleon looked towards the horizon as he carried a blue ice chest to the cart.  Puffy white clouds dotted a flawlessly blue sky.  “Hard to believe it.  When will we know?”

“I’ll keep my ear tuned to the mariner’s report.”  Illya jerked his head towards the other couple as they studied the lagoon.  “Those two are all right, but Burrows and his wife are a pair.  I had three reports from them cross my desk and that was even before we left the hotel.  Nothing has been good enough for them.”

“Hopefully, they will like my cooking.”

“Don’t count on it.  They haven’t liked anything else.”  He nodded to Sammy and Tammy.  “Get them settled and then I’d suggest some ginger ale for Madame, but it had better be imported.”

“Everything here is practically imported,” Napoleon protested.   “Even me!”

######

Napoleon looked at the table, neatly set with plates and silverware.  There was a platter of fresh fruits and the fixings for a salad and he’d made his special honey mustard dressing.  There was a plate of fresh fish, caught the night before and then grilled over young coconuts.  He’d made some hamburgers and a big plate of fries, just to be on the safe side.  There seemed enough for a small army.

“Are you ready?”  Illya was just putting the finishing touches to the table.

“Blow your horn, Daniel.”

“Napoleon, I don’t want you to be upset if the Burrows are less than complimentary about your cooking.  After all, nothing else has pleased them.”

“You have to wonder why they even bothered to come here.”

“Bragging rights.  To have come some place their friends haven’t.  Who knows?  Thank God, they are only here for one night.”

Illya lifted the conch shell to his lips and blew.  There was no place on the island the horn could not be heard.

A few moments later, Sammy and Tammy, holding hands and giggling like teenagers, appeared.  

“Mr. Burrows said he wanted room service,” Sammy said as they entered.  “Wow, look at this!”

“Then he is going to go hungry,” Illya muttered.

“ _Mais d’accord_ ,” Tammy said with a smile.

“ _Parle vous francais?”_ Napoleon asked as he seated her.

“Three years in high school and your friend was giving me a run for my money on the boat.”  She laughed at Illya’s chagrinned look.

“And I thought I was being so careful,” he said in English and both the man and woman laughed. 

“Hey, they deserve to be called whatever you called then and probably worse.”  Sammy looked at the food and grinned happily.  “This looks… um...”

“ _Incroyable,”_ Tammy finished.  “I thought it would be just simple food, but this looks first rate.”

“I hope you will enjoy it.”  Napoleon pulled out Tammy’s chair.  “ _Madam, si vous plait?”_

“Incoming,” Illya said and then ducked into the kitchen.

“Coward,” Napoleon quietly called after him just as Burrows appeared.

“What is this?”  He glared at the table with distain.

“Lunch, sir.” 

“I don’t eat fish.”

“Then enjoy the hamburgers and fries,” Napoleon escorted Mrs. Burrows to a chair and seated her.

“I want to see the menu.”

“There is no menu here, sir.  Had you joined us for the welcoming party, you would have been able to voice your likes and dislikes then.  Perhaps after you have finished dining, you will be willing to stay afterwards and discuss them then.”  Napoleon tried to keep his comments polite and his voice light.  “Now what would everyone like to drink?”

“I want beer,” Burrows said without preamble.  “Ice cold and in a frosted mug. 

“The ladies first?”  Napoleon ignored him.

“I’m good with just water.  We both are,” Tammy said.

“A wise choice, considering the heat.”   Napoleon looked to Mrs. Burrows who was poking a piece of tuna tartare.  “And for you, madam?”

“Do you have American brands of soda, like Coke?”

“ _Oui.”_

“Then I’d love a Coke, please.”

“With or without ice?”

“With… please.”

Napoleon disappeared into the kitchen and grinned at Illya.  The man had his feet up, a _Hinano beer_ on his lap and a cap over his eyes.  “Make yourself useful or I’ll have you doing dishes.”  Napoleon gestured to the refrigerator.  “I need some ice, a Coke and what do they drink for beer back in the US these days?”

“You’re asking me?”  Illya pulled some ice from the freezer and filled a glass.  “Is this for the beer?”

“The Coke.  And I need a cold beer glass.” 

“We have those?” 

“I had a feeling earlier.”

Napoleon carried the tray back into the dining room, pleased to see everyone eating.  Even Burrows was working on a fish fillet.

“Despite everything else, the grub here is good,” he said with a mouth full of partially-chewed food.

“I’m glad you like it.  If you care for anything else, please let me know.”  Napoleon placed the drinks down and retreated to the small shaded alcove in the back where a picnic table sat.  Illya was placing dishes down and Napoleon pulled their food from the oven. 

“Mmm, my favorite,” Illya said as Napoleon approached. 

“You don’t even know what it is.”

“Doesn’t matter.  If you made it, I like it.” 

Napoleon smiled at that and sat.  They ate quietly, both listening to the small radio that hung not far from the table.

“It doesn’t sound good,” Illya said after a moment.  “I would suggest using everything that can spoil tonight and we’ll head back to Rangi in the morning.  If it hits the island as hard as it might, we can’t be here.”

“What about the buildings?”

“The ones facing the lagoon should be okay, but we might lose the others.  I would pack everything you don’t want lost and we’ll take it back.  I’m going to call over and get a couple more guys to help out.  They can stay the night in one of the empty fares.”

“At least Burrows will be happy.  They’ll be off the island in less than twenty four hours.”

#######

Napoleon wiped the salt water from his face and blew out a mouthful of air.  He was a good sailor, with a cast iron stomach and even he was feeling a bit under the weather.  Mrs. Burrows clung to the rail on the boat and moaned loudly.  

For their own safety, Illya had forced everyone to don both life vests and rain gear.  The rain hadn’t started yet, but every time the bow hit the waves, a spray of water showered down over them.  At least the luggage was dry.  Illya had made sure that everything had gone into the boat’s water-tight container.

Napoleon wanted to cheer when he saw the dock of Très Beau appear and he pointed.  “We’re almost there.”

“Thank God,” Tammy muttered.  Her hair snaked out from beneath the rain hood, making her look a bit like Medusa.   “What a storm.”

“The storm hasn’t even hit yet,” Napoleon said to her.  “We are lucky that we got in before that.”

“Not luck - a good captain,” Sammy said, staring at Illya.  Illya’s attention roamed, watching the horizon for possible trouble, even this close to shore.  Napoleon knew he wouldn’t stop until the boat was tied up and his passengers were back on firm ground.

“He does know these waters better than most people.”

“Wait until I have a talk with the manager here.  Hell, I want to talk to the owner.  I have never been treated worse.  I’m going to make sure everyone know what a crummy place this is.”

“I’m sure he will be delighted to hear what you have to say, Mr. Burrows.”  Napoleon knew Illya couldn’t hear them.  Undoubtedly he would soon enough.

As the boat drew closer, two employees ran out carrying umbrellas.  Fat drops were dimpling the water’s surface and Napoleon knew they were just seconds away from a downpour. 

“Get our guests out of the weather,” he shouted as he caught the bow line and pulled the boat close.   Immediately, they were helped from the boat and under the protection of the umbrellas even as other employees scrambled to tie up the boat and unload it.  Napoleon didn’t worry about his personal items.  A little salt water wouldn’t hurt his clothes and anything damaged could be replaced.  He felt for the waterproof satchel he wore under his poncho.  His book was safe, his typewriter would be fine and they were back safe and sound.

“Get out of here,” Illya shouted as the rain hit.  “I’ll be along.”

Napoleon climbed from the boat and headed for the bar, the closest structure.  The bartender looked up, prepared to bawl the intruder out until he realized it was Napoleon under the rain poncho.

“Bad at the motu?”

“It doesn’t look good.  I just hope it’s still there when everything is said and done.”  He carefully peeled off the rain poncho in an empty part of the bar.

“It wouldn’t be the first time it was washed away.  There used to be a dock that went out into the lagoon, but the last big storm blew it away.”  Francois handed Napoleon a glass of water.  “Unless you want something stronger?”

Napoleon peeled off the poncho and shook his head.  “Water is just fine right now.  Poor Illya, though.”

“Why poor Illya?”

“He’ll have to close the island down until repairs are made.  I’m thinking of the lost revenue.”

“Won’t be too bad.  The motu were slated for renovation in another month, we will just start sooner.”

Illya ran into the bar and looked back.  It was nearly impossible to see the end of the dock now.  “ _Merde.  W_ hat a mess,” he said to no one in particular.  “I’m guessing the airport is on standby.”

“It is, just in case there’s a mass exodus this afternoon.” 

The phone rang and Francois answered it.  He listened for a minute and nodded.  “The front desk says there is a very irate man screaming at her and demanding to speak to the owner, barring that, the manager.”

“I’ll be right there.”  He looked over at Napoleon.  “You want to come?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

They dashed the short distance from the bar to the dining room and then grabbed umbrellas from the stand by the front door.

By the time they reached the lobby, both men were wet from the waist down.

“I’ve never seen it this bad,” Napoleon muttered.  Waves were crashing up and over the dock and the wind was coming through the lobby as if it was a wind tunnel.  It carried voices to them and Napoleon recognized Burrow’s shouts.

“I want the manager.”  He pounded his fist on the desk and Napoleon watched Tetuanui flinch.

Illya’s face grew hard.  “Okay, this stops now.  I don’t care if I have to drag him out of here by one leg.”   He marched up to the front desk and pointed to the entrance. “Get out of my hotel.”

“Your hotel?”  Burrows paused to chew on that.  “What do you mean, your hotel, Frenchie?”

“My hotel in that I own it.  I barely tolerated your behavior when it was aimed at me, but I will not have my staff bullied, threatened or disrespected when they are merely doing their jobs.  We are through here.  Your receipt will be mailed to your address on file.  Now I recommend you head to the airport and take the next flight somewhere else.  I don’t very much care where as long as it’s not here.”

“You can’t do that.  I’m a paying customer.”

“Yet another thing you neglected to read carefully.”  Illya pointed to a sign.  Written in five languages was the warning:  We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone.

“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer,” Burrows tried again.

“Excellent.  I haven’t had a good laugh in months.”  Illya gestured to one of the porters, a large Samoan named Tiny.  “Please get him and his wife off the property.”

“Think he’ll be trouble?” Tiny asked in Tahitian.

“I hope so,” Illya snapped as Tiny flexed his arms and smiled lazily at the couple as they luggage as brought from the boat. 

Still shouting, Burrows was herded to a waiting taxi and pushed inside.  Tiny was careful but efficient.  Napoleon shook his head.  “What a terrible waste of a lovely vacation.  Think he’ll really sue?”

“Possibly, but what case does he have?”  Illya dried his face on a towel that Tetuanui provided.  Then she hugged him and quietly cried. “Shh,” Illya murmured as he hugged her back.  “Bastard.  He’s the kind of man who gives Americans a bad name.”

Napoleon joined Illya in the embrace.  “Thank God I’m a Frenchie, then.”  He laughed as Tiny wrapped his arms around all of them. 

“Not a Frenchie _, brah._   You be family.”

And Napoleon could not think of when he’d received a better and more comforting compliment. 

 


End file.
